


Carry That Weight

by Sarah K (tears_of_nienna)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/Sarah%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the verdict in "The Rack," Bodie drops by Doyle's place to check up on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry That Weight

_Boy, you're gonna carry that weight  
Carry that weight a long time..._

Bodie let himself in through the garden gate, but he knocked on the back door and waited to be invited in. Barging in on Ray with him in this kind of mood would only make matters worse.

Doyle gave him a wry look through the glass of the door, then unlocked it and pulled it open. Instead of turning round and letting Bodie in, he stood in the doorway, leaning on the jamb. "Thought you were down the pub with Cowley."

"Yeah, I had a pint. He had a double of Glenlivet—on me."

"Couldn't afford a second round, then?"

"Thought I'd stop by and see how you were getting on."

"I'm all right," Doyle said flatly.

"Sure you are, sunshine."

"I'm just having an early night, that's all."

"Yeah, an early night of brooding."

"So what if I am?" he growled.

"Then there's no reason to do it alone. Come on, we can be a pair of miserable sods together."

Doyle stepped back and let the door swing wide. "What have you got to be miserable about?"

"Oh, nothing at all. Just watching my partner flay himself over something that wasn't his fault." Bodie shrugged off his jacket, threw it over a kitchen chair, and followed Doyle into the sitting room.

"You don't _know_ that it wasn't my fault," Doyle snapped, turning away. "_I_ don't know it—and won't ever."

"Ray, if you worry over every might-have-done, every little consequence, you'll never get any peace."

"Maybe that's as it ought to be."

Bodie nearly reached out for him then, but he let his hand fall back to his side. If he tried that now, Doyle would get the wrong idea about everything. He'd held off all through the inquiry; he could wait a little longer. He had to know that Doyle wanted this as much as he did.

Doyle turned back to him, a pair of tumblers in his hand. "Here." He held one out to Bodie. "It's not Glenlivet, but it'll do. Come on, sit down—but I warn you, I'm not fit company tonight."

"When are you ever?" he said lightly, making to sit on the coffee-table as he had the last time he'd been here, when he'd meant to help and ended up almost starting a row.

Doyle sighed. "Oh, sit on the sofa, Bodie. There's room enough."

And there was plenty of it, the way Doyle curled himself onto the opposite end, his drink dangling almost forgotten from one hand. Still wearing the shirt and trousers he'd had on at the inquiry—albeit the former was a good deal less buttoned than it had been, and the jacket and tie were nowhere to be found.

"I shouldn't have let him get to me," Doyle murmured.

"If he had laid hands on you again, he'd have got to _me_."

"I can take care of myself, Bodie." He chuckled bitterly. "Don't suppose I'll ever have to prove that again, will I?"

No, he wouldn't—not that he'd ever had to in the first place. "Hell, I wish I _had_ hit him instead of you," Bodie muttered.

Doyle turned on him with a glare. "Why, because it wouldn't bother you? One more notch on your gun-belt, that's all it would be to you, wouldn't it?"

"Like _you're_ just another notch on my bedpost? Come on, Ray, you know me better than that. Of course it would bother me—just bothers me more, seeing you like this."

Doyle shook his head. "Sorry, mate. I did warn you."

"Yeah. Knew what I was getting myself into, didn't I?" Only he hadn't—not at the start of all this. Hadn't expected to find a real partner after all this time. And he certainly hadn't expected that he'd come to care so much for the gorgeous, stroppy bastard, had he?

No, he hadn't known what he was getting into at all. But that didn't mean he regretted a bit of it. He got up, snagged Doyle's empty glass from his unresisting hand, and poured them each another drink. Doyle let his fingertips graze Bodie's as he took the glass back.

Slowly, Doyle began to uncurl, the tension gradually fading out of him. He set down his empty glass and leaned back on the sofa, his shoulder not quite brushing Bodie's. Better, that, but he was still staring off into space, tired and inconsolable.

Bodie caught his elbow and pulled him down gently, to lie back with his head in Bodie's lap. Doyle sighed and closed his eyes, and finally he seemed to relax.

Bodie let his eyes travel down the lines of Doyle's face, the sweep of his lashes, the shadow of the broken cheekbone. For the first time in days, Doyle's lips were parted, not pressed in a tight, tense line. Bodie slid his thumb lightly over Doyle's bottom lip, and was rewarded with the tiniest hint of a smile. He let his hand fall away, resisting the urge to slide his palm into the open collar of Doyle's shirt, to give him a bit of distraction if he wouldn't accept any other sort of comfort. But he'd be happy even to let Doyle fall asleep like this, just to know that he was getting some rest instead of torturing himself over things that couldn't be undone.

Bodie twined one of Doyle's wayward curls around his finger. Yeah, he'd sit like this all night, and gladly. But after a while Doyle opened his eyes, focusing properly on Bodie for the first time all evening. He reached up to trace the line of Bodie's jaw with a fingertip. "Don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Something awful in a past life, no doubt."

Doyle smiled faintly and, to Bodie's unexpectedly intense disappointment, he raised his head and sat up. But instead of retreating to the other end of the sofa, he lifted his hand again, his fingers trailing along Bodie's cheek. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bodie's, soft and warm and lingering. Bodie's mouth opened beneath his, but Doyle pulled back, still close enough that his lips brushed Bodie's when he spoke. "Come to bed?"

This time Bodie closed the tiny distance between them, letting one hand slide along the nape of Doyle's neck. "Yeah."

Doyle stood up, the graceful curve of his spine making Bodie want to pull him back down to the sofa and skip the long walk up the stairs. Doyle turned off the lamp and headed for the staircase without ever looking back to see whether Bodie was following.

After all, he never had to.


End file.
